


Letters

by earthtoalley



Series: 30 Days of Writing [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - World War I, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthtoalley/pseuds/earthtoalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Michael still hadn’t forgiven himself for racing off to war and leaving his family behind. In the rare moments of silence, he would tell himself that he had done it because it was what his father wanted, as if that suddenly made things okay. As if that justified leaving Raphael and Gabriel behind when they were still just children. As if it justified abandoning Lucifer."</p><p>Drabble for the 30 Days of Writing meme. Prompt 14: Letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

Michael still hadn’t forgiven himself for racing off to war and leaving his family behind. In the rare moments of silence, he would tell himself that he had done it because it was what his father wanted, as if that suddenly made things okay. As if that justified leaving Raphael and Gabriel behind when they were still just children. As if it justified abandoning Lucifer.

Michael had always looked old for his age; he was tall and well-built, both things that worked in his favour. So when the army had rolled into town, they hadn’t even thought to question little sixteen year old Michael Shurley, all too eager to serve his country and make his father proud. He had seen Lucifer waiting in line to volunteer but they both knew it would never happen. Lucifer was tall for his age, sure, but the head of golden curls and the almost innocent face gave him away as nothing more than a plucky fourteen year old. Michael had been there to scold and comfort him when he was told to come back in four years.

Michael looked up from the letter he was writing as he heard the whistle of artillery overhead. The trench mud clung to his uniform, the damp and the cold practically clinging to his bones. His fellow soldiers had all stopped what they were doing, some of them cautiously poking their heads up over the edge of their trench, trying to figure out where it had come from and where it was going.

Barely a second later, there was their lieutenant, barking orders for them to get to their feet, grab their weapons, fix bayonets, all manner of orders that were almost instinctual to Michael now. Michael signed off his letter as he always did; “Love always, Michael,” and stuffed the scrap of paper in his pocket along with the envelope.

It didn’t make it to Michael’s family until three months later, along with a tiny bar of French chocolate for Gabriel and a rather more official looking letter addressed to one Mr. Chuck Shurley. The other letter, Michael’s letter, was forgotten about while his family grieved, but eventually it found its way into Lucifer’s hands, his name scrawled on the front in Michael’s messy handwriting.

The letter was brief and to the point; they always were, that was just Michael. Lucifer did his best to ignore the bloodstained page, or the slightly charred bullet hole in the lower corner, his gaze washing over Michael’s words:

_Dear Lucifer,_

_Expect to be home by Christmas._

_Love always,_

_Michael._


End file.
